


Evergreen

by LaBelladoneX



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Pansy Parkinson, F/M, It takes longer to pick the tags than it does to write the bloody story!, Marmite, Pining Draco Malfoy, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-10-08 12:22:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17386397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaBelladoneX/pseuds/LaBelladoneX
Summary: Based on a trio of Fanart Friday winners from Strictly Dramione's Facebook page, this story covers the course of our favourite couple's happy life together - from the first time Draco asks her out to the day they watch their great-grandchild board the Hogwarts Express for the first time.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SenLinYu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenLinYu/gifts), [TheLastLynx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastLynx/gifts), [smithandbarrowman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithandbarrowman/gifts).



> Credit must go to the amazing artists who inspired this three-part story:  
> https://www.deviantart.com/just-orson  
> https://www.deviantart.com/upthehillart
> 
> Thank you to the Fanart Friday winners to whom this story is dedicated, and to In Dreams, coyg_81, and theotterandthedragon for their help throughout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To SenLinYu - on your birthday x

[ http://just-orson.tumblr.com/image/179989752010 ](http://just-orson.tumblr.com/image/179989752010)

Selected by SenLinYu

###  **Grehan Hall, Waterhall Park, Bedfordshire - just off the A4146**

###  **14th October 2000**

Climbing the stone steps towards the historical building, Hermione muttered feverishly as she tried to hold her bag, calm her hair, and save herself from being strangled by her own scarf.

“Of course I’ll help, Pansy. No bloody problem, Pansy. Why the f—”

“Darling! You’re here!” Pansy gushed as she tottered towards the opening door in high heels — or miniature stilts. A house-elf, wearing a lime green three-piece suit, was already bowing low to The-Girl-Who-Can’t-Knit — Hermione’s hats and scarves were legendary amongst the Hogwarts house-elves who used to line the baby mandrakes’ crates with the tatty lumps of wool.

But don’t tell her, okay?

“Just about,” Hermione replied, bracing herself for her friend’s infamous double-cheeked — and lipstick-staining — _mwah_. Not only was the former Slytherin a famous fashion designer these days, she was also the epitome of pure-blood society… on the outside. To the public at large, Pansy Parkinson looked as sharp as her fringe; she practically oozed upper-class breeding, whether in sleek designer dresses — usually daring creations by her Muggle colleague, Victoria B. — or her favourite extra skinny jeans and killer heels. She demanded attention with every blister-inducing step, and never failed to get it.

Behind closed doors, however, _Pans_ could slum it with the best of them — and usually did.

For the past year or so, Friday evenings were spent at Hermione’s London flat in pyjamas, surrounded by trashy magazines, DVDs, takeaway cartons, and wine bottles. The tradition had started with Ginny and Luna but, as time went by and tentative friendships blossomed — some into lasting romances — the trio welcomed Daphne and Pansy.

On the other side of the country, in a manor the size of Ikea, Draco hosted the male version of Hermione’s pyjama party, only _he_ insisted on full wizarding attire. Quidditch, billiards, Texas Hold’em, and a full seven-course meal prepared by Michelin star house-elves — it’s a long story — were a far cry from the girls’ more relaxed evenings, but enjoyed just as much by the Malfoy heir, Harry, Neville, Theo, and Blaise.

As a favour to Pansy, who wanted ‘the gang’ to help promote her new collection for Draco’s Quidditch team — the Leighton Buzzards — they all gathered at Grehan Hall to pose dramatically and smile for the camera. Hermione was the last to arrive, receiving the usual jeers from her friends who were well used to her notorious tardiness.

“Haven’t you ever heard of being _on time_ , Granger?” Draco complained, crossing his arms. “Being first here—”

“‘Punctuality is the virtue of the bored’, Malfoy,” she retorted, dropping her bag with a thud. No one asked; the last time someone enquired about what Hermione was carrying in her tiny beaded coffer, she’d hauled out an entire three-piece suite, her extensive collection of Arklow pottery, a cross trainer, and her E-Reader — which she vehemently refused to let anyone hold, for fear they’d go through her reading list.

(Of course, _we_ understand E doesn’t necessarily mean ‘electronic’. But Hermione’s friends didn’t need to know that, right?)

Hugs, kisses, and a brief nod — no guesses from whom — were exchanged with the rest of the former school friends/enemies (delete as appropriate). Theo, Blaise, and Neville were all drinking what looked like black coffee but you just wouldn’t know with Pansy — her love of Marmite was legendary.

“Enough, children!” Pansy clapped her hands, marching towards them all with an entourage of assistants behind her, a line of suit carriers, garment bags, shoe boxes, and totes floating behind the last clone. “Now, Araminta, Octavia, Iolanthe… will you organise the outfits and accessories per model? Great! Henrietta, Persephone, and… eh… Joan, you can begin make-up, okay? Fab! Thank you, darlings! I’d be lost without my favourite witches, wouldn’t !?”

Eyebrows were raised around the room as Araminta, Octavia, Iolanthe, Henrietta, Persephone, and Joan tottered off on equally high heels, gathering up the items for each model. It was difficult to tell the witches apart; each had ramrod straight hair in varying shades of dyed blonde — buttery, beige, summer, honey, strawberry, and... dirty. Their pale make-up was also similar, like vampire chic — anaemic, spectral, mozzarella, Malfoy, Michael Jackson (the latter years), and I-Can’t-Believe-I’m-Not-Dead (oh, wait…).

They’d obviously shared the one jet-black eyeliner and Communist-red lipstick as well.

Their outfits consisted of pencil-thin dresses with high collars and bracelet sleeves in charcoal grey — the style so tight against their waif-like bodies, the witches could only move their wandlike legs from the knees down. Small patch pockets, sewn over their non-existent left breasts, also bore the logo of Pansy’s fashion house, _Pantastico._

The house-elves looked better… and healthier! Julian, Dick, Anne, Georgina, and Timmy were decked out in ebony tea towels with elaborate frills along the bottom. Their pockets also displayed Pansy’s logo — over slightly bigger moobs and boobs.

They were on set to arrange props and backdrops for the photographer, a wizard of robust proportions with a wheat-coloured comb-over — that began just above his left ear — and a penchant for gold chains. Pansy _mwah_ -ed him enthusiastically upon his arrival, lovingly calling him, ‘Barry, darling’.

“Swee-tee,” Barry-darling cooed, pawing Pansy’s arse playfully as he hungrily eyed her from the breasts down, “how about those cocktails afterwards? You’re always putting me off, babes. A guy will only wait so long, you know.”

“He looks old enough to be her grandfather,” Ginny whispered to Daphne while wands were waved around them with gusto, “and when did velour come into fashion?”

“I don’t think it ever did,” Daphne replied through the thick layer of Jammy Dodger Red that landed on her lips, “especially not in that shade of magenta.”

They watched Pansy sidestep Barry with practised ease and wave more instructions at her assistants. By now the two of them, along with Luna, were styled in surprisingly suitable tones that highlighted their features, with uncomplicated hairstyles to match the outfits they’d be modelling.

Ginny and Daphne were handed the women’s home and away kits respectively in the Buzzards’ colours of black and khaki. Luna was already wearing the supporters’ jersey for the coming season in the same colours, with _Malfoy_ emblazoned across the back in a dull mushroom colour and khaki cargo shorts to match. She also had a baseball cap, tote bag, and travel mug to carry for different shots. She insisted on remaining barefoot; something about Nargles.

Nobody listened.

While all of this was going on, Hermione was being plucked, powdered, and painted with rapid precision behind a screen. Her lateness resulted in the last outfit for the women being left for her — a short khaki safari dress with the Buzzards’ logo embroidered onto the collar, a wide black leather belt, and cream push-up bra. Pansy insisted the buttons on the dress remain wide open at the top — “to make you look like you actually have tits, darling!” — and high up the leg as well — “well, at least you’ve got decent pins.”

That quote landed Hermione with a pair of black wedges that really did accentuate her long, tanned legs — with the aid of quite a few cushioning and balancing charms.

Meanwhile, over in the boys’ corner…

“Uh huh, fascinating, Octavia. And what shade _do_ you think would match my natural skin tone?” Theo was finding the make-up session a little _too_ interesting.

“ _Virgin_ hair? How did you know… _oh_ …” TMI there, Neville. Bless him.

“ _Bella_ , why don’t you let me show you what _I’m_ concealing?” You can understand why Blaise is single, right?

“Don’t you fucking dare attack me with… with… that mini broomstick! What do you mean blusher? Do I look like I’m fucking blushing, you blind twat!” No, there’s no prizes for guessing this one.

Overhearing that last comment, Pansy sighed loudly. It was going to be a long day.

Another hour of prepping and dressing passed before everyone was ready for Barry to start clicking away. Pansy had Theo and Neville dress in the team colours to match Ginny and Daphne, the four of them taking to charmed broomsticks, posing in front of a modified Ventus Jinx in order to simulate flying conditions.

Luna sat on a large plush couch sipping Marmachino and flicking through a coffee table book of Barry-darling’s best pics, waiting for her turn to pose. Blaise lounged beside her in black silk boxers — the team’s logo strategically positioned. He was going to model the new Leighton Buzzards’ homewares collection, so Pansy planned to sprawl him across a duvet and throw shapes behind a shower curtain. Needless to say, he was in sexuality heaven.

It was all relaxed and casual, until…

“WHAT. THE. FUCK. AM I FUCKING WEARING?”

Henrietta came running out from behind a screen, as fast as her legs could carry her — from the knees down. It _might_ be possible to say she was as white as a sheet, but how could you tell really?

“Pansy,” she breathed, “I-I…”

Her boss placed a well manicured hand on Henrietta’s shaking bone of an arm. “Don’t worry, darling,” Pansy shushed her. “I’ll deal with him. Go get yourself a Marmiatto and take five.”

Ever so calmly, Pansy walked over to the screen and pulled it back, revealing a livid Draco Malfoy.

 _"You,”_ she started before he could utter a word, “will not ruin this for me! I turned down the chance to work with Donatella to do this fucking photo shoot today, nevermind the hours spent designing fucking amazing outfits for your fucking… toy! So, Draco I’m-So-Spoiled-Daddy-Bought-Me-A-Quidditch-Team Malfoy, you will walk out there, stand in front of that fucking camera, and FUCKING SMILE!”

Witches and wizards, Miss Pansy Parkinson. Slytherin.

Scary as fuck.

And fabulous.

All heads — wizard, witch, and elf — turned to watch Draco shuffle forward in a pair of shoes twice the length of his feet.

“Poulaines, Pans? We’re not in the thirteenth fucking century!” He spat furiously

“They’re called _winklepickers_ , Draco,” Pansy corrected him with a wave of her hand. “Famous since the fifties in Muggle Britain. _I’m_ bringing them into wizarding fashion. Even your father will be wearing them in the coming months. So stand there, shut up, and smile for the fucking camera.”

She turned on her super high heel and recited a list of instructions to Barry-darling about what she wanted — Draco looking left, Draco looking right, Draco looking pensive, Draco pointing this way, Draco scratching his arse, Draco with each of the friends in turn, and finally, Draco with Hermione.

 _Draco_ fumed silently as Barry-darling changed lenses and tweaked camera angles. He looked quite fashionable from the neck down to the shins, to be honest. His black silk shirt highlighted his trademark pale skin, along with a bomber jacket and slim trousers in the team colours. Beneath the three-quarter length trousers, however, were cream socks covered in golden snitches and tweed-patterned shoes that reached out in front of him like tree branches. He closed his eyes and silently wished for death.

He remained that way until a hand gently brushed along his shoulder.

“You could do with some fresh air.” That soothing voice brought him back to reality. “Come on.”

Draco didn’t reply, but he followed Hermione as best he could, shuffling across the floor.

“Can you give us ten minutes, Pans?” Hermione asked She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed, _Accio-_ ing her coat and scarf as she passed her friend.

“Sure,” the other witch sighed, “Try to get him to smile, will you?”

“I’ll do my best but I’m not promising anything,” Hermione quipped, ignoring Draco’s glare.

The laughing just got louder as he moved past everyone else, gliding over the tiled floor like a cross-country skier. Even Henrietta joined in, eventually, from a distance.

The pair made their way out onto a large balcony overlooking Grehan Hall’s lush gardens. Without speaking, Draco waved himself up into the air and sat heavily onto the stone balustrade.

“Why didn’t you laugh with the rest of them?” He muttered, watching Hermione’s hair billow out behind her in the strong breeze. It was a beautiful shade of mixed Autumn colours, he noted.

“Why would I?” She asked, leaning on the balustrade and casually waving her wand. An aria of bright yellow canaries fluttered around their heads, tweeting a familiar melody as she continued. “It’s just a bit of fun, Draco. You shouldn’t take life so seriously.”

“Pansy’s made me look ridiculous,” he moaned, “and I’m not spoiled… that much.”

“Draco,” Hermione stood up, turning to him. “Your father bought you a Quidditch team; you’ve never worked a day in your life. You live the life of a rake — all fashion and women. What do you expect?”

“There are no women!” He almost fell over, reaching out and grabbing her hand to steady himself. “What the fuck makes you think there are women?”

“ _Witch Weekly, the Daily Prophet, Spella Weekly, Which Wizard… Knitter’s Own…_ ” she trailed off.

“You… you believe them? Seriously, Granger! What the fuck—”

“Pictures speak for themselves,” she replied, watching the canaries fly in formation above Draco’s head, trying not to stare down at the hand that still held hers. The tiny birds had spelled out L, then O, and were currently flying into a V.

Draco sighed, reaching out to wave his free hand in front of Hermione’s face to get her attention. The birds were just finishing the E.

“Any woman I’m pictured with is either an employee of Malfoy Industries or one of the Buzzards’ administration team,” he explained. “I don’t want… there’s just one woman _I_ want to date, I just haven’t plucked up the courage to ask her out yet. And any time I try to say something, she has some smart retort that puts me straight back in my very spoiled place.”

“She sounds like she’s well able for you,” Hermione smiled, her heart slowly flaking into pieces. It wasn’t until she actually heard him admit he liked someone that she began to realise just how interested she was in Draco Malfoy.

“Yeah, she even quoted Evelyn Waugh to me earlier today when I complained about her being late. _And_ I was only early because I wanted to make sure our friends knew I planned to ask her out, and hope to fuck she’d agree to date me.”

The canaries were now flying in the shape of a love heart, tweeting to the tune of Marvin Gaye’s ‘Let’s Get It On’.

Draco looked down at their joined hands. “Well, Hermione Granger, what do you say? Will you have dinner with me?”

_End of Part 1_


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your reviews, each one is like being handed the perfect pint of Guinness!
> 
> Thanks to coyg_81 and theotterandthedragon for correcting my errors and making this readable. Enjoy!

* * *

 

 [ https://www.deviantart.com/just-orson/art/Winter-777872480 ](https://www.deviantart.com/just-orson/art/Winter-777872480)

### Selected by TheLastLynx

**A beer-stained dark oak-lined booth in a dingy corner of The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley (the corner nearest the bar — for convenience)**

**Sunday, 24th December 2000**

“Where’s Hermione?”

“She popped out to the loo.”

“Right... so... any word from Draco?”

“A note last week from Mars—”

“Oh, ha fucking ha, Blaise.”

“No, Theo, it’s a place in Pennsylvania. He’s gone to the States.”

“What the fuck for? Couldn’t he — I don’t know — _find himself_ just as easily here?”

Air quotes are so annoying, aren’t they?

“He’s signed up to study sports management or something equally as boring. Said he’d sweep the locker room floors with a toothbrush… if that’s what it would take...”

“Ssh, she’s coming back!”

* * *

**A rather luxurious daybed (in deep emerald velvet), the corner of Pansy’s office, Pantastico SARL, rue du Chat qui Pêche, 75005 Paris**

**Wednesday, 14th February 2001**

“Pansy… I messed up.”

“You think? I don’t see why you’re moping on my couch, darling. You brought this all on yourself, you know.”

A heavy despair-laden sigh wafted towards the fashionista as she approved new sketches and binned others. She was still trying to figure out whether to match the seafoam spike-heel ballet shoes or the fern swayback platform boots with the leopard-skin onesie.

Decisions. Decisions.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Hermione moaned into her hands. “I just… I didn’t want to get hurt. I was scared, Pans.”

Pansy abandoned her colour swatches and walked purposefully towards her couch, kicking off six-inch heels and hiking up the trousers of her jumpsuit — it didn’t matter that one of her best friends was heartbroken and distraught, she did _not_ want _knees!_

“Come here, darling,” she cooed, curling up and guiding Hermione to lie down and rest her tamed curls against smooth silk thighs. But the thought of Gryffindor tears staining such expensive material suddenly struck Pansy, causing her to jump up rapidly, and Hermione to smack her head off the padded seating.

Thinking quickly on her (bared) feet, Pansy began to pace in front of her friend.

“No, I’m not going to feel sorry for you! That’s too… too… that’s what we have Neville for. Hermione, Draco laid his heart on the line for you and what did you do? You turned him down! You said _NO!”_ She stopped pacing to stick her hands on her hips and give Hermione her best glare — saved only for special occasions. “He’s been in… eh… look, Draco’s wanted to date you for a while and — when he finally plucked up the courage to do it — you spun him some shite about how you didn’t want to get hurt and you didn’t trust that he’d given up his womanising. He never _womanised!_ He _networked_ for the benefit of the Buzzards. Ah, ah, ah—” Pansy raised a perfectly manicured index finger to stop Hermione’s attempted interruption “—that photograph was magically altered; Draco isn’t that bendy.”

Hermione was sitting up straight at this stage, much to Pansy’s relief as it meant no tear stains on her beloved daybed. (Many a _Scourgify_ had been cast on that couch — thanks to a certain Italian that was always willing to scratch an itch when it suited Pansy — but Hermione didn’t need to know that.)

As the signs of heartbreak slowly descended from her expressive eyes, she nodded mournfully at Pansy’s lecture.

“I should have let him explain,” she sobbed. “He told me the women were part of the Buzzard’s staff or… or his father’s employees. But… Pans… I was so scared! We’re from two opposite worlds… we’re so different. He’s always been so spoiled; he was more concerned about the style of the Buzzards than their actual placing in the League! What—”

“Hold on!” Pansy frowned, marching over to her desk to rifle through a drawer. “Where in Merlin’s name did you get that idea from?” She returned to Hermione’s side with a sheet of parchment in her hand, thrusting it forward. “You’ve no idea how wrong you are, Hermione,” she stated. “Read this.”

Hermione wiped her eyes dry with the back of her hand before taking the proffered parchment.

 

_Monday, 9th October 2000_

_Pans_

_Thank you for sending over the new sketches so promptly. I’m so relieved you didn’t mind changing the green from sage to khaki. I know how stubborn you can be, but getting the input from all the players is important to me. I want them to realise just how dedicated I am to the Buzzards and that I plan to work alongside them, not just from the comfort of my office — although it’s much better now that I’ve had it decorated. Your interior designer is a genius!_

_By the way, the coaching staff loved their new juice bar, thanks for the suggestion. We’ll have the new saunas and steam rooms installed in a few weeks and I’ve organised for the players to take extended holidays this year as a thank you for waiting those extra few days for the treatment rooms to be ready without complaint. They really are a great bunch to work with._

_I know everyone labelled me the Wanton Buzzard when Father bought the team — he swears it was for tax reasons. But, until my time comes to take over Malfoy Enterprises, I’m going to do everything in my power to make the Leighton Buzzards the best Quidditch team in the country. You can quote me on that._

_See you for the photo shoot on Saturday._

_Draco_

 

Hermione slowly put the parchment down on the coffee table in front of her.

“And you called him a ‘rake’, Hermione,” Pansy’s tone was laced with accusation. “He was really trying to improve his reputation, to make a go of owning a Quidditch team. But you still saw him as spoiled. I love you, Hermione, I really do. We’ve been such good friends for the past two years but — I have to ask you — have you _really_ lost your prejudices against us Slytherins?”

Hermione jumped up, glaring at her friend as sparks ignited the air around them.

“I never held the opinions that Harry and Ron did,” she retorted. “If you remember correctly, I was the one who suggested we approach you guys to shake hands after the trials. It wasn’t my fault Ron refused but I begged, Pans. I bloody _begged_ for all the hate and mistrust to be put aside so we could all move on with our lives. I didn’t expect to develop feelings for Draco… I didn’t think I’d fall so bloody hard… I couldn’t bear to get hurt. But—”

She collapsed back down onto the couch and wept, her head in her hands. Pansy was at her side in a second, leaning over to wrap her arms around Hermione’s neck. Most people would have bent down to be face-to-face with whomever was upset but, you know... _knees._

“Darling, I’m sorry, I had to ask. You can understand why, can’t you?” Pansy stepped back, crossing her arms as Hermione peeked up through her damp fingers.

“S’pose.”

“So… if Draco walked into my office _right_ now, would you agree to have dinner with him?”

Hermione laughed bitterly, throwing herself backwards on the couch in defeat.

“Dinner, sex, marriage, children… There’ll never be anyone else for me,” she sighed, rubbing her swollen eyes with the heels of her hands. “I should have said yes. I wanted to say it so badly, but I just got scared. Imagine falling even harder for him and it all going to shit! How could I let him go if he didn’t want me?  I should just go live on an island, Pans. Are nuns still a thing?”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “You brought this all on yourself, you know. Where was your ridiculous Gryffindor courage, Hermione? What happened to punch first, ask questions later? Or in your case insult first, then punch, right?”

An enchanted mirror on Pansy’s desk chimed for her attention. “Miss Parkinson?”

The female who appeared looked very familiar, her voice friendly but professional. Was it Iolanthe or Persephone? No, too quiet. Maybe Octavia? No, too nasally. Araminta? Hmmm… maybe not. What about Henrietta? Yep, that was it. Henrietta.

“Yes, Joan,” Pansy replied curtly, the tip of her wand pressed against the reflective surface.

“Your four o’clock just cancelled, Miss Parkinson. It seems Herr Lagerfeld is… eh… no longer available.”

“Scheiße,” Pansy muttered, closing her eyes tightly. “That’s unfortunate… Right, Joan, get Valentino. I know, darling, I know. If he pinches my arse one more time, I’ll make sure his next bottle of fake tan is laced with mashed up U-No-Poo. Bloody casanova! Okay, I’ll work on the Buzzard’s tea cosies then. Could you please make me a Caffé marmmosa? Sweet.” She turned to Hermione who was now picking herself slowly off the couch and fighting a losing battle with knots of wild hair. “Would you like one, too?”

That was Hermione’s cue to leave.

* * *

**The same beer-stained dark oak-lined booth in the same dingy corner of The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley (the corner nearest the bar — you know why)**

**Friday, 6th April 2001**

“Where is he now?”

“He’s interning with some American Quidditch team… eh… the Boring Boobies. They’re on tour at the moment—”

“Boring? Maryland?”

“Tennessee… or maybe Oregon.”

* * *

**And yet again… the same dark oak-lined booth in the same dingy corner of The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley (the beer stains were cleaned up… eventually)**

**Tuesday, 5th June 2001**

“Well, happy birthday, mate… wherever the fuck you are now.”

“I got a postcard from George Washington.”

“The dead Muggle? What the fuck has that got to do with Draco?”

“ _George_ , Washington. Washington DC. It’s a fucking place, idiot.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?”

“I did!”

“Is he still playing with the Boobies?”

“You’re a fucking juvenile, Theo. You know that, right?”

“Yep.”

* * *

**Leaky… blah, blah, blah**

**Sunday, 30th September 2001**

“He’ll be back just before Christmas.”

“Where is he now?”

“Hell.”

“Come on, Blaise, it can’t be that bad!”

“It’s in fucking Norway, you twat. There’s a Quidditch convention or something and the Boobies will be on display.”

“Do you realise—”

“Yes, I fucking realise what I just said. Piss off.”

* * *

**Another dark oak-lined booth in unfamiliar dingy corner of The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley (Man-Whore McLaggen is chatting up some bird in their usual corner… prick!)**

**Thursday, 20th December 2001**

“Have you spoken to him?”

“Yeah, yesterday. He’s back with the Buzzards and all set for Saturday. They were just about to play a charity match against the Holyhead Harpies when I spoke to him.”

“Where was he then?”

“Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.”

Silence.

“Pint?”

“Yeah.”

* * *

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland (nobody really knows where)**

**Saturday, 22nd October 2001**

“The place looks amazing, Pans!” Ginny exclaimed, whirling around in awe. “What a transformation!”

“Thanks, darling. I wasn’t sure about decorating for a reunion — not _exactly_ my thing — but it’s worked out really well, hasn’t it?”

‘Really well’ was an understatement; Pansy and her clones had actually outdone themselves. The enchanted ceiling was open to the elements with Santa Claus’ sleigh flying high across the stars, and snowflakes floating down to just above Neville’s head as he was the tallest of the group assembled early for the reunion. The house and staff benches were replaced by pale gold circular tables and matching chairs, each sitting ten guests, and sprinkled with Christmas-themed party favours and pixie dust. Glittering Christmas trees were dotted around the flagstone floor and bunches of mistletoe — which Hermione insisted were _not_ magicked to float around with romantic (read: devious) intent — had been arranged in glass jars alongside crystal bowls filled with gold, bronze, and cream floating candles. It seemed Pansy had taken quite a liking to ‘shabby chic’.

The friends had arrived early to have afternoon tea with the headmistress and faculty staff, which then left them a few hours to relax and prepare for the arrival of the rest of the invited guests.

Neville dragged Daphne straight down to the greenhouses to show her Professor Sprout’s prized collections of Knobweed and Nipplewort. Harry and Ginny joined Blaise and Theo down at the Quidditch pitch for a quick pick-up game, and Luna announced she was off to see Moaning Myrtle.

Pansy instantly accepted an invitation by the new History of Magic teacher, Professor Grey, to join him in the library where he was sure he’d come across some texts on ancient wizarding fashions.

He hadn’t; he was so bewitched, he’d just made it up.  

That left Hermione to her own devices for a few hours and, despite Harry’s predictions that she’d spend it in the library, she surprised them all by donning her heavy cream coat and heading out for a walk around the castle grounds.

Ginny, from her position high above the Quidditch pitch, began to follow her friend’s footsteps in the snow and completely ignored the quick game going on around her, resulting in Blaise and Theo celebrating loudly that they had just thrashed _the_ Harry Potter. But the laughter and jeers were suddenly hushed as she almost fell off her broom trying to get her their attention.

“He’s here!” She stage-whispered, pointing down to the Apparition point just beyond the school’s main gates. “Draco’s here!”

The guys followed her line of sight to observe the friend they hadn’t seen in over a year magically walk through the imposing iron gates.

“Looks well,” Theo observed. “Maybe a bit paler?”

“Good job he’s wearing a dark cloak then, mate,” Blaise quipped, “otherwise we’d mistake him for a snowman.”

“Ssh!” Ginny hissed, “He’s seen her.”

Blaise and Theo instantly dropped down to the stands with Ginny angling her broom to follow them, but finding herself suddenly pulled back by her boyfriend.

“You are _not_ going to spy on them, Ginevra Weasley!”

“Who do you think I am, Harry Potter?” She spat, glaring as he realised that, maybe, he had thought the worst of her, an apology beginning to form on his lips.

“Gin—”

“Of course I’m going to bloody spy on them, you idiot!”

“If she is, we is… are,” Theo piped up, casting a Hot-Air Charm over the four of them and accepting the large bag of popcorn Blaise had produced from his pocket and magicked back to its original size. “This is not to be missed, Potter.”

They settled themselves on the highest bench with a very reluctant Harry standing beside them.

“This is ridiculous,” he moaned. “It’s an invasion—”

He was practically hissed at by the two Slytherins and their evil redheaded accomplice. Harry sighed in defeat, shaking his head; the things he agreed to for love. Sitting down beside them, he grabbed a handful of popcorn, and aimed a _Sonorus_ at Hermione down below.

“Well?” He asked innocently as they turned to stare at him in unison, “What were you going to do? Lip-read?”

* * *

**Meanwhile...**

Draco noticed Hermione the moment he walked through the gates of Hogwarts. He stopped instantly, blood running cold as he chewed his lip. Would she want to talk to him? Would she even listen? After all, _he_ hadn’t given her a chance to explain why she had turned him down the previous year. He’d just hopped down from the balustrade and shuffled awkwardly back into the photoshoot without uttering another word to her. Two days later, he’d left the country.

He had been so sure his cocky behaviour and natural charm would have won her over. How fucking stupid could he have been? This was Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of Her Age! Not some blonde rack on legs who only wanted to get her hands on his vault.

Behind the scenes he’d proved himself as a hard worker, devoted to the Buzzards, and determined to make a name for himself. To Blaise, Theo, and Pansy, he was just Draco — the one who drank instant coffee from a mug and had a terrible habit of leaving wet towels on the floor. To the Gryffindors, he was still a little too posh but they were working on him, albeit very slowly.

But to Hermione, he was a womanising ‘rake’. He hadn’t forgotten what she’d said, nor did he think he ever would. He desperately wanted her to see the real him — the one who’d been in love with her forever — and so, over the past fourteen months, Draco tried to become the man she deserved.

He’d interned at the American Quidditch team headquarters, disguising himself completely, and changing his name to Leslie Pendragon. His first months were spent washing filthy uniforms and cleaning out post-match dressing rooms. Then he was promoted to Second Assistant Reserve Team Broom Polisher. From there, he went ‘upstairs’ where he made tea and dusted shelves until he was offered the position of Official Letter Opener for the owner, J.P. Glasscock. Eventually he was given the opportunity to learn the ropes and studied hard under the successful management team — a future with Hermione Granger foremost in Draco’s mind at all times.

He did it all for her. And, now, he was back.

For her.

She was circling slowly around the outside of the Quidditch pitch as he approached, her long chestnut hair cascading down over her cream coat as she paused by the four house crests that hung down almost thirty feet to the ground. Draco watched her trail her fingers over the yellow and black before moving onto the blue and bronze. She smiled tenderly as she reached the deep red and gold colours of her house, spending a longer moment touching the heavy material. Next were his colours — his home for seven years — his comfort through the pain and anguish he was suffering prior to the war. How would she react? Would she just walk past?

He was closer, grasping hold of his green and silver scarf as a sudden wind tried to steal it away.

Hermione’s hand rested against the Slytherin crest as she leaned her forehead against the silver snake. Draco closed his eyes briefly, the temptation to reach out and touch her almost too much to bear.

“Draco,” she whispered, just barely above the breeze, “I’m sorry.”

“Hermione,” he replied. “I’m home.”

She twirled around, eyes shining from unshed tears.

“Are you really here?” She whispered, stretching her hand out to feel the warmth of his own. “Draco—”

He stepped forward, his free hand cupping her cheek, and his lips gently caressing hers. Almost immediately, the kiss deepened and the grip on her hand tightened as he brought it up to hold against his heart.

“You’re in here, Hermione,” he breathed against her, “in my heart. I’ve tried to become the man you… wait.”

He stepped back, winking to assure her everything was okay as a powerful _Muffliato_ was surreptitiously cast around them.

“Audience,” he explained, pulling Hermione back into his arms and kissing her once more.

Fourteen months of emotion was poured into their embrace; fourteen months of what should have been said…

“Yes, I’ll have dinner with you.”

“Stay with me.”

“I love you.”

“Marry me.”

But it seemed they didn’t need to speak, what they felt in their souls — in their hearts — was enough to know everything was going to work out beautifully.

* * *

**Thirty feet above…**

“Bollocks! Who can lip-read?”

 

_End of Part II_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that dates won’t match but I just wanted to mention the ultra-cool Herr Lagerfeld (1933-2019) 
> 
> Pansy’s Caffé marmmosa is based on Caffè gommosa - a shot of espresso poured over a single marshmallow - only hers has added Marmite.
> 
> Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch really exists; it’s a large village on the island of Anglesey in Wales. The long form of the name, with 58 characters, is the longest place name in Europe and the second longest official one-word place name in the world. My mate, Don, is the only person I know who can pronounce it, and he’s not Welsh. 
> 
> Knobweed and Nipplewort are actually real; the mind boggles.


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you all for your kind reviews and virtual hugs to cogy_81 and theotterandthedragon for looking over this before posting. 
> 
> And if you're every passing our Strictly Dramione page on Facebook, pop in and say hi!

[ https://66.media.tumblr.com/d3c5ae7618d68326d039df9ef03dc4f6/tumblr_inline_ocblp2oEej1u60b0g_500.jpg ](https://66.media.tumblr.com/d3c5ae7618d68326d039df9ef03dc4f6/tumblr_inline_ocblp2oEej1u60b0g_500.jpg)

### Selected by smithandbarrowman

**Malfoy Manor - just outside Bradford-Upon-Avon, Wiltshire**

**Friday, 31st August 2074**

Hermione sighed heavily as she opened the French doors and stepped out onto the veranda. It was cooler than normal for the date in question and she pulled her cloak closer to her body, shivering a little at the breeze that rustled her hair.

She still had the habit of tucking stray strands behind her ear, despite the fact the style was shorter and more wavy these days. Those chestnut curls were long gone, living on instead in her daughter and two of her grandchildren. She was silver grey now —  ‘distinguished-looking and still sexy after all these years’ according to her husband. The opinion of her youngest great-granddaughter, Miss Vera Potter-Malfoy, however, was that she now looked ‘weely weely old’.

Hermione took her time descending the stone steps to the Manor’s rose garden, her near ninety-five years taking their toll every so often. She looked around for her husband, guessing he was hiding again, so she made her way towards the summerhouse with a stern lecture already forming in her head.

It was a ten minute walk to Draco’s favourite spot in the vast grounds of the Manor. She used to run it in less than two but, alas, those days were long gone. Still, Hermione reasoned, she had all of her faculties and her brilliant brain was showing no signs of slowing down. She was content with that, as she was with all aspects...

Well, mostly all.

There was just one stubborn, awkward, and extremely childish ninety-four year old husband to contend with.

She thought how well life had turned out since Draco had come back from his various travels with his tail firmly jammed between his legs. That first night together — at the Hogwarts reunion — had been magical. They’d spent the evening in each other’s arms on the dance floor and later on in her guest room, both overwhelmed by the emotions that enveloped them as they made love for the first time.

Draco Malfoy was rather talented when it came to making love.

He was also particularly skilled in the art of taking her breath away and making her forget her own name.

And his sexual prowess and stamina were practically award-winning back then.

Still were...

Hermione’s cheeks were heating up as she continued her walk and she certainly couldn’t blame the cold wind.

She shook her head and resumed her train of thought, finding it amusing that her husband of all these years was so like his late father in some ways, they were practically the same person.

Draco, like Lucius before him, craved privacy and solitude. The older they both got, the more they preferred the summerhouse during the warmer months and the fireside reading chairs in their respective studies when it was too cold to venture outside. Narcissa — Merlin bless her soul — had spent more time berating Lucius for hiding everytime Draco and Hermione visited with their children, Scorpius and Cassiopeia. And when _their_ significant others began to tag along — Albus and Atticus respectively — she had to magically confine him to the drawing room and threaten to withdraw ‘personal time’ should he misbehave or refuse to engage with his family.

It got worse when Draco and Hermione moved into the Manor permanently. Narcissa began to magically lock Lucius’ study door only to discover him one day hiding in the kitchen pantry with a jar of lemon curd and a rather large spoon.

Then the great-grandchildren started to interfere with Lucius’ preferred quiet life. Scorpius and Albus adopted a baby boy, Vander, and Cassie gave birth to three children — Farris, Eleanor, and Hunter.

It got worse when they started to procreate — Vander and his wife Cambria first churned out the twins, Skye and Aria, with Vera coming along six years later. Farris and Esther produced Anastasia and Zora, and Hunter and Sofia had Laina. Lucius’ absolute favourite was Eleanor; she was far too career-oriented for children, as was her equally focused husband, Bastien. They were the proud owners of Wendy, Marigold, and Florence — the great-grandkittens of one Crookshanks Granger and Miss Kitty Pantastico Parkinson-Grey.

You’re still with me, right?

Anyway, needless to say, the dying words of Mr. Lucius Abraxas Malfoy three years previously were ‘thank Merlin, peace at last’.

His wife, on the other hand, was deeply saddened to think she’d miss her family when she was gone and told them all — as they stood around her bed — that she was looking forward to seeing them all again some day, sighing quietly before closing her eyes one final time.

That was just over one year ago and Hermione missed her mother-in-law terribly, having grown to love Narcissa as she did Molly Weasley. She didn’t have to miss Lucius at all, his son channelled him on a daily basis, including his penchant for lemon curd.

Speaking of channelling the dead...

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, you get out here right now!”

She now stood outside the door to the summerhouse, hands on hips, and that ‘distinguished-looking and still sexy after all these years’ hair crackling with frustration.

Silence.

“I _said_ ‘get out here right now’, you antisocial arsehole!”

Ever so slowly a shock of white hair rose up and familiar grey eyes peeked out at Hermione through the glass door.

“Hello, dear.”

“Don’t you bloody ‘hello, dear’ me, you… you…”

Hermione’s wand hand twitched with annoyance and the glass began to rattle right in front of Draco’s face.

“You’re hiding again, you bloody prat,” she spat. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

“Nothing is wrong with me!” Draco pouted, a slight moan following as he straightened himself up. “I was just… busy.”

“Busy hiding!” Hermione retorted. “Honestly, Draco, this is our family! Our children, our grandchildren, and our great-grandchildren. Ours! Yours and mine. Why can’t you spend time with them without complaining? You’re so like your bloody father… ugh!”

She threw her hands up in the air.

Draco looked ashamed. “There’s just so many of them, Hermione, and… and… all those girls! I’m drowning in a sea of pink!”

“Girls that idolise their Papa—”

“And that’s another thing! Who the fuck decided to call me ‘Papa’? It makes me old!”

“You ARE old, you imbecile! You’re ninety-four!”

“I’ll have you know I’m as young as I feel,” he replied with a wink, “and I feel perfectly well enough to take you right here—”

“Do NOT finish that sentence, Draco Malfoy.”

“—once I take one of those little blue tablets—”

“ENOUGH! So help me! It’s the day before the youngest member of our family goes to Hogwarts. It’s a special occasion, okay? And _you_ — you wanker — will leave that rickety old cesspit _right now_ and come back to the Manor to greet your bloody family and make a fuss of Vera. Or so help me—”

“I’m busy.”

The solitary albino peacock that was sauntering around the back of the summerhouse shat itself at the scream of frustration Hermione released just then. She slumped down onto the bench outside of the little structure that seemed to permanently host her husband these days.

“I give up.”

Now _there_ was a brief statement Draco Malfoy, or the traumatised peacock, never thought would pass the lips of Hermione Granger-Malfoy, the most successful Minister of Magic the wizarding world had ever seen.

The creaking door of the rickety old cesspit opened a little and Draco peeked out… cautiously.

“Pardon?”

Hermione closed her eyes and leaned back, folding her arms.

“I give up, Draco. I’m finished. I’ll have Rory and Amy bring over your clothes and books later on. You can just live in the summerhouse, alright? Would you like to join me and our family for Christmas dinner? I’ll send on a formal invitation in early December.”

She got up slowly from the bench and began to walk back towards the Manor, counting to ten in her head. He might hold off until she reached five, his record was seven. But Hermione really wasn’t in the mood for playing mind games with Draco right then, the family would be arriving within the hour and she still had to wrap the antiquarian book she’d bought for Vera so the little girl could enjoy a bit of light reading on the train to Hogwarts — _Pepperinge Eye and Prestidigitation - a Treatise on Potions and Poisons in Post-War Wizarding Britain 1981 to Present Day_ by M. Poppins and E. Price.

A few moments passed before she heard the summerhouse door open and Draco’s strong voice call out to her.

“Hermione, wait!”

Hmm… four. That was quick.

She turned slowly, fully expecting him to offer a variety of excuses as to why he’d be hiding away from his family… again.

“Draco—”

“No, Hermione, please let me explain,” he pleaded, walking purposely towards her, drawing himself up to his full height, and towering over his petite wife.  He still looked years younger than his actual age, his features forever handsome and aristocratic, and Hermione couldn’t help but melt a little inside.

“I… I’m sorry, alright?” He apologised, raising his hands to her shoulders. “I know I should be more sociable with the family but… I’m not like you, Hermione, I don’t manage large crowds well and, to be honest, I don’t think I ever got over having all those fuckers here in the Manor when he… well, you know—” Draco sighed, closing his eyes briefly before continuing “—and the noise! Why does our family make so much noise when they’re together? It’s like being permanently stuck in the Weasley’s kitchen… or the Potter’s! Why can’t we spend more time—”

Hermione smiled, reaching up to caress her husband’s cheek.

“It’s called being part of a family, Draco, and that’s what we are. You and I made this family… together. They’re our legacy.”

“Is it wrong to only want to spend my days with you? I love them all, Hermione, so much. You have to know that, but it would be so much easier for me if I saw them one at a time.”

He took her hands and guided Hermione back to the bench she had just vacated.

“Maybe you could set up one of your fancy colour-coordinated schedules for me?”

“You’re impossible, Draco Malfoy,” she laughed, “but I am _not_ backing down. You will spend today with your family, and every other bloody day they come to visit. Or I’ll tell Amy to hide your lemon curd.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Watch me.”

“Everyday,” he smiled, leaning forward to kiss her forehead tenderly. He was always going to give in. “I love you, Granger.”

Hermione wrapped her arms around his. “I love you, Malfoy.”

“Wait there,” he whispered, lowering his head to brush his lips against hers, “I have a surprise for you.”

Draco returned to the summerhouse, coming back to his wife a few minutes later with a large parcel in his hands.

No prizes for guessing it was book-shaped.

Hermione’s eyes lit up. “You didn’t!”

“I didn’t what?” He looked confused.

“Is this what I think it is?” She gasped. “I’ve been trying to get my hands on it for ages. I know by the shape! Oh, my god, I _knew_ you were up to something recently!”

“Eh… Hermione—”

“Oh, Draco, it is, isn’t it? _Collectable Spoons of the Second Wizarding War_ by William S. Pond—”

“ _What?_ Eh— ”

She looked up, her expressionable eyes sparkling with mirth and his face a little paler as he bit his lip and twisted his fingers together.

“Oh, Draco… your face,” she laughed. “That’ll get you back for trying to hide away again today.”

He was suitably chastised.

“Yes, _Mother_ , I suppose I deserved it. Hilarious. Ha ha ha. Anyway—” he sat down again beside her “—open it up. I was going to give it to you tomorrow after Vera left for Hogwarts but… well… I can’t wait to see your reaction.”

Hermione, after all these years, still took tremendous care when opening presents. She carefully slid her fingers along the folds and gently peeled back the gift wrap which, she noted, was patterned with evergreen flowers.

There was indeed a book inside — a diary, to be exact. As Hermione leafed through the first few pages she recognised Draco’s handwriting and various pictures of their family which he had attached to random pages.

“What is this?” She queried, glancing up at him.

“I started this diary when I left for America, after you’d said no to having dinner with me. You’ve never seen me write in it because I wanted to keep it a secret, until I felt the time was right to give you the diary… as a gift. You see, Hermione, refusing that time was the best thing that ever happened to me and this diary proves just how much I’ve grown as a wizard — as a man — over the years with you by my side.”

She looked down at the first page and read the inscription out loud.

_My evergreen_

_You are always gonna be_

_No winter winds_

_Can take you far from me_

_These tides of time_

_Have carved a few new lines_

_Oh, but they've never changed my mind_  
  
_When all these storms have passed and done_

_This distance will be gone_

_And I swear we will be one_

_When this race has all been run_

Taking a moment to wipe away a few stray tears, Hermione flicked open another page, and another, gripping onto his hand as she continued.

* * *

**_Hogwarts_ **

**_Sunday, 23rd October 2001_ **

_Hermione_

_Last night was the most beautiful I have ever experienced, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to truly explain the depths of my love for you._

_One day I’ll give you this diary  so_ _you  can understand what I honestly can’t vocalise properly._

 _As I write this you’re asleep, naked and warm against my skin. I’m holding you in my arms, the quill and diary_ _floating in front of me, charmed to disappear should you wake._

_I pray to every god who’ll hear me that we’ll spend eternity like this… together._

_Making love to you, touching you, hearing you whisper my name at your most intimate moment has healed my heart of all that made it cold when we were in school together._

_I_ _never thought I’d experience true love but, if I am only to have this one moment of true happiness in my lifetime, I shall die content._

_I love you._

* * *

**_Grehan Hall_ **

**_Saturday, 7th June 2003_ **

_Hermione_

_I wish you could feel what I do when you tell me you love me. My soul sings to you, and I feel my heart pound with raw emotion._

_Today you promised to love, honour, and cherish me until death takes us. But I promise my love for you will continue beyond the realms of this mortal world._

_You are my life… Mrs Malfoy._

* * *

**_St Mungo’s_ **

**_Thursday, 12th January 2006_ **

_It’s so quiet. I’m just happy to watch you sleeping soundly, Hermione. Merlin, you must be exhausted, my love._

_Our son is asleep in my arms._

_Our son._

_I hope that, one day, he will experience this feeling of true love. I swear it consumes me at times — it stops my breath when I look at you._

_And now, you have given me hope that I can be the father to this little boy that I wanted Lucius to be for me._

_You’ve given two Malfoy men a chance to make things right and I hope we won’t let you down._

_I would give our son my life but it’s firmly set in your hands._

_I will never stop loving you._

* * *

**_St Mungo’s_ **

**_Wednesday, 17th September 2008_ **

_I nearly lost you today, Hermione — you and our beautiful daughter._

_The thoughts of not having you beside me as I continue to live — I can’t put them into words._

_I begged the Healers to take my blood, to save you, to do whatever it took._

_But I should never have doubted your strength and determination to come back to me. It seems our little Cassie has her mother’s spirit too, and her inquisitive nature._

_While you rest, Cassie is in her crib beside your bed and Scorp is holding onto her tiny hand._

_He’s chatting away to her as she stares up into his face, and I swear she has a bemused look in her eyes._

_They’re just like yours — that beautiful dark shade that soothes my heart._

_He’s telling her all about his ‘bwoom’ and our ‘libree’._

_And me? I would give anything to lie beside you on that hospital bed and hold you close. I need you in my arms, Hermione._

_I’ll always need you._

* * *

“Before everyone arrives, my love,” Draco spoke softly, the backs of his long fingers wiping away his wife’s tears, “just read the last page.”

Hermione nodded, gently turning the book over to open it from the back cover.

* * *

**_Malfoy Manor_ **

**_Friday, 31st August 2074_ **

_I can see you, Hermione._

_You’re standing at the top of the stone steps, furious with me for hiding again._

_I really am like Lucius that way — relishing the peace and quiet. But I realise you hate me disappearing or locking myself away._

_Do you know what stupid reason I have for doing it?_

_I’m always afraid that I’ll make a fool of myself in public, even in front of our own family and friends — the people I love most in the entire world._

_Yes, even Potter-Lite. You have to admit though, I haven’t called Albus that in a while so that’s progress in itself._

_To me, Hermione, you still light up my life. You illuminate every room you walk into and continue to turn heads like you did when we were younger._

_I never apologised for hitting Finnigan that time, but I probably never will. The fucker deserved it. Your arse is mine to touch, no one else’s._

_I digress… again. Blame the old age._

_So what am I afraid of?_

_I’m afraid that one day, in front of everyone I know, I’ll shout out to the world just how much I love you, how much I need and desire you_

_— especially after I take one of those little blue tablets — and how I still don’t really deserve you._

_So I hide away and bite my tongue, blaming it on the noise of all our grandchildren and great-grandchildren,_

_when in fact I’m just afraid that the wizarding world in its entirety will realise that, at ninety-four, I’m just a horny old man with a wife he’d gladly die for._

_So, what do you think about me pretending to have a touch of the plague and sending everyone home early?_

* * *

Hermione’s tears had turned to laughter as she read Draco’s final entry.

“Oh, Draco,” she gasped, “you are something else!”

“I know,” he quipped, “so, what do you think, Granger… are we on?”

_The End_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rory and Amy? William S. Pond? Anyone?
> 
> Also, I’m sorry to report that 'Collectable Spoons of the Second Wizarding War' is no longer in print. 
> 
> Evergreen - The Frames/The Frames DC  
> Writer(s): Paul (GB2) Brennan, Glen James Hansard, Graham Downey, Noreen O’Donnell, Colm MacConIomaire, David Odlum.  
> Fitzcarraldo (re-release 1996)  
> ©ZTT Records / Warner Music UK

**Author's Note:**

> “Punctuality is the virtue of the bored” - Evelyn Waugh


End file.
